


Every Breath You Take (is Mine)

by ejdominus



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Anal Sex, Blackmail, Blow Job, Choking, College Coach Keane, College Professor Nicolò di Genova, Creeper, Dark Joe, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, Joe's POV, M/M, Minor Violence, Name Calling, Obsession, Older Man/Younger Man, Older Nicky, POV Second Person, Stalking, Unhealthy Relationships, University Student Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Van Speech Perversion, Writing Exercise, Younger Joe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 16:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30074982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ejdominus/pseuds/ejdominus
Summary: Yusuf "Joe" Al-Kaysani is a 20 year old university student who falls in love and in obsession with his Italian teacher Nicolò diGenova. This is that love through his eyes as he wonders to Nicky where it all went wrong.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Keane/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova
Comments: 21
Kudos: 79
Collections: All And More Loves Joe Server Bingo 2021





	Every Breath You Take (is Mine)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dark fic and an experiment in using second person. Mind the tags, I'm not responsible for you wandering in here unaware. DEAD DOVE. This dark folks, but I'm in a mood to experiment. Join me, won't you?

All I ever wanted you to do was love me. We were meant to be, it was destiny. You were my moon when I was lost in darkness and my warmth when I shivered in cold. But now you’re lying underneath me crying, begging me to let you go. I don’t understand how we got here. Can’t you see that I love you, Nicky?

It started out so beautifully. I was in my sophomore year and had to pick a language. I thought Italian might be fun, maybe I could go abroad and see the world. Italy sounded nice and I heard their women were beautiful. Girls at the university were lovely but they didn’t interest me, so I thought maybe the solution was to travel far away and sing, “ _Ciao bella!_ ” and find my soulmate at last. The guys on the university’s soccer team teased me for not having a girlfriend though, and constantly tried to set me up. I joined a frat in hopes the parties would allow me to find someone but always I got drunk on coke and cheap vodka, and I couldn’t get it up for them. They’d use their mouths and their hands but always left me disappointed. I couldn’t seem to care as much as I thought I should.

But then I saw you. You came into the classroom in a rush, late which would become your usual routine. I didn’t understand what I felt at first when I saw you, only that my heart beat fast and my nerves felt like they were sparking. When you looked at me to ask my name, I felt the heat rush to my face. I couldn’t remember my own name in that moment, so struck was I by your face. Beautiful, bright eyes -- were they blue or were they green? Every day it was a different shade and there was a new detail in them to find. You cocked a half smile with those pink lips as you asked me again. I imagine I looked rather silly in that moment, staring at you with my dumbstruck eyes and mouth hanging open. 

“Yusuf,” I finally managed, “but call me Joe.” Your smile blossomed into a full one of perfect teeth. The sharp line of your aquiline nose intrigued me, and I spent so much time trying to draw it in my notes instead of writing down vocabulary. 

“I am your professor, Mr. Nicolò diGenova. And this is Italian I.” Your voice was deep and sonorous with the hint of an accent. I was not told about the beauty of Italian men. I felt strange at first to be so focused on your appearance, but as the weeks went on, I only grew more enamored. You were special. I wasn’t attracted to men, but your soft white skin and warm chestnut hair were more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen. And when you sang to us in Italian I felt my heart swell and heat pool low in my gut. 

Suffice to say, I didn’t do very well in that class, my eyes and mind preoccupied with you. The way you moved, the way you spoke, and the way you snorted when something really made you laugh. 

I admit that I spent too much time coming to your office hours for help. I was not a poor student, but I did have trouble concentrating in your class. You never made me feel guilty about it -- I worried I might be a pest. I got jealous when I found other students in your office looking for help. I began to think of your office hours as our time. You’d ask me about myself, my family, and my schoolwork. You said it was to practice Italian, but I knew you just wanted to get to know me better. It’s what I wanted as well. Every detail you gave to me about your life and where you came from in Italy, I treasured. I knew you wanted me to see you. And I wanted you to see me.

“Joe has a crush!” my teammates would tease as I blushed when they asked me why I was turning down their offers to set me up or take me to parties to meet girls. They asked me who it was, what was she like, if she was beautiful, and if she put out.

They were so vulgar. And you were a dream. I couldn’t let them think of you that way. They would not appreciate the details of your beauty, the dark skin around your hooded eyes, the fan of your lashes pressed against your cheek when you looked down to read, or the proud line of your nose. They would say crude things about your lips, soft, pink and perfectly shaped when you formed the vowel sounds in class. It was almost lewd how you did it, even if the content of your words was innocent. 

“She has a beauty mark,” was the only detail I would allow, because it was perhaps my favorite detail about you. The mole beside those lips that you sometimes covered in shame, saying you wish you could get it removed. The thought horrified me then as it does now. Because everything about you is perfect, don’t you understand?

And I know you felt the connection between us. You would brighten up when I came by your office. You called me your favorite student, but you always gave me fair grades. I admired that about you, that you didn’t let our personal relationship affect your integrity. You didn’t give me special favors, though I noticed all the other little details of your affection.

I saw how you would take off your jacket and roll up your sleeves when I came to see you. You blamed it on the warmer weather and the AC in your office being broken, but I knew these were just pretenses. After all, I was still a student, and you a teacher though only about ten years older. Sometimes when I came, your top button would be undone, exposing a little of your smooth chest. And those pants you wore were so tight, like you wanted me to see the way they hugged your round, perfect ass. I believed all of this was a show for me, and a part of me believes it still.

Deep down, I know you felt it too.

Even if in the end...I found out you were with another.

I would wait to see you leave at the end of the day, just to see where you went. I knew you lived in a house on campus, but I wondered if you were the type to go straight home or go out to let loose after work. I thought maybe, beyond the confines of campus, we might be able to be ourselves and let our feelings shine through.

So, finally, I summoned the courage to confess my feelings to you and bring out in the open what we both already knew. We were destined for one another, and I could wait until I was no longer a student to be yours publically. But in the meantime, I needed to be closer and feel the soft press of your lips. It’s all I dreamed about in my dorm, the only thing that allowed me to fist my cock to climax. The thought of your mouth crying out my name made me come every time.

But that’s where I saw you. The real you. The tainted you. At the seedy little gay bar you led me to. I thought at first you chose it because it was so far away from campus and hidden, darkly lit inside and full of loud music and crowds. In such a place we’d be safe from prying eyes who would disapprove of our love. 

Yes, that’s right. Love. I knew I loved you then. And you would’ve loved me too. If you hadn’t been such a fucking whore.

I’m sorry. I don’t mean that. Though you were in that moment. When I saw you with _him_. Tall, dark and handsome but not a stranger. Oh no. I knew him. The head of the athletics department. A married man with children. His wife was another professor, and their perfect little family was well known among the students. But here you were with him, letting him kiss you and grope you at a small booth where you thought you couldn’t be seen. 

Mr. Keane didn’t appreciate you or love you, so I can forgive you for your mistake. But you were so wanton when you were with him. Panting and lifting your head so he could kiss and suck at your neck, leaving marks that should have been mine to leave. Your hands would roam his broad, muscular back as he hand dipped lower underneath the table to paw at you like an animal. I couldn’t hear your moans over the loud thumping of the music, but I could see how you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. You were so willing to let him do anything to your body. You had absolutely no respect for yourself.

I followed you when you left, together, worried that he would take advantage. But you let him. You let him take you to that motel, where you worked to unlock the door, laughing at he kissed your neck and groped your ass. I felt sick to my stomach to watch you disappear in there with him. 

He didn’t love you. He couldn’t. Not like I do.

I hoped it was a one off. But I caught you several more times, which is why I took the picture to begin with. I felt like I was going mad. I cried alone in the shower at your betrayal, cursed you, and wished you dead. I’m sorry for saying those things, though. I did it because I was hurt. Still, I loved you and I knew we were meant to be.

The semester was ending soon, and I needed you to see how wrong you were to be with Mr. Keane. I didn’t know how or when, but fate intervened at last when I came to your office hours early that one morning and caught you with _him_. You both jumped away from each other, trying to play it off like it was innocent. But I saw the flush of your cheeks and your kiss-swollen lips. Keane excused himself in a hurry as you ran your fingers through your hair, smiling like everything was okay.

“I know,” I said to you, and you were so quiet in response. You tried to play dumb, pretend you didn’t understand what I was walking about, but you sobered up quickly when I showed you the photo of you kissing him, a married man, outside a seedy motel room. You were angry then, which made my heart sink. You shouted at me for spying, for following you, for accusing you of terrible things. An affair with a married man. I would ruin his family and his life, you yelled. I was hurt at first, but it made me seethe with rage at how you seemed only to care about what became of _him_. He was an adulterer and unworthy of you, but here you were, angry at me and defending _him_.

I’m sorry for what I did then. But you have to understand how mad and hurt I was. I didn’t mean to hit you, knock you onto the ground. I didn’t mean to shout and call you all those names. _Whore. Slut. Tease_. I was angry, but you could see that. I tried to apologize, help you up, and then your face was so close to mine, I couldn't do it. I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that, but I had to make you understand how I felt. I pressed my lips to yours, and it was like heaven. I worried my beard might irritate your smooth skin, but I couldn’t stop from holding your face in my hands like a precious treasure.

You pushed me away and yelled at me to leave. I understood though, your door was wide open and anyone could come by and see us. And I didn’t want you to get in trouble for being with a student. So that’s why I turned and closed the door, propping up a chair underneath the handle to make sure no one could come in. Especially Mr. Keane. 

You still yelled at me though to leave. You were so confusing to me then. After all our months of flirting, you grabbed your office phone to call security. I admit...I handled it badly. But you were out of control. I had to grab the phone and rip out the phone line, tossing it away. It made such a loud sound when it hit the wall that you flinched. I was worried you were scared of me. You tried to push me out then and get to the door to remove the chair. I panicked. I’m sorry I hit you again. And again. And again.

You needed to calm down, which is why I threatened you with the photo. Said I would send it to the dean, to Mr. Keane’s wife, and spread it around campus. I just needed you to calm down. Someone came to your door, asking what the commotion was about. I was afraid you’d say something stupid. But the threat of the photo seemed to calm you down; you told them everything was fine and made them leave. 

I felt much better when things were calm. When you stopped yelling and fighting me. You still seemed mad though. Maybe because of the split on your lip. I did feel bad about that, but you flinched away when I tried to dab the blood away. You told me not to touch you. And then you asked what I wanted.

I laughed because what I wanted was to touch you.

“I love you,” I said to you. “And I know you feel it too.” You gave me such a horrified look then, like I had told you the worst news in the world instead of the best. It should have been a joyous moment for us, but you just couldn’t let it happen. I see that now. Mr. Keane still had his hooks in you, so you couldn’t allow yourself to be happy with me. To accept me.

“I don’t,” you said to me. “I don’t feel that way about you.” It was a lie, I knew. You were afraid because I was still your student and you thought you only deserved someone like Mr. Keane who treated you like his mistress. 

So, I realized that I need to help set you free. Needed to give you a way to give into your feelings for me without the guilt. To end things with Keane and allow yourself to be with someone who truly worshipped you.

“Be mine, or I’ll show everyone what a whore you are.” I had to be cruel so help you accept us. I understood that’s what you needed in that moment. You stared at me for so long. I could see how you wanted to accept my offer but struggled against it. You couldn’t accept that you deserved to be happy. And be more than someone’s whore.

“All right,” you finally whispered. I smiled because I knew you’d chosen to be happy.

I kissed you properly then, relishing the feel of those lips I’d dreamt about for so long. You were so sweet and cute. I could tell you were nervous. You held yourself so still and tense, like a wire about to snap. Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but feel giddy to have you at last in my arms. I pressed you up against your bookcase -- I couldn’t help but feel the need for there to be no space between us. 

My cock was so hard, and I couldn’t help but press it against your stomach. I needed you to understand what you did to me, how you made me feel in a way no one else, man or woman, ever had. I licked and sucked at your lips, willing them to open to me. Finally I reached down and palmed your soft cock with my hand. You gasped into my mouth, finally granting me entrance. I kissed you so deeply. I wanted to steal your breath and leave you panting in want of me. I knew Keane never kissed you like this.

“Touch me,” I said when I let you up for air. You hesitated, and I found it endearing. I knew you weren’t a virgin but wanted to play one with me. I reached around and grabbed your ass, moaning at the feel of how you filled my hand. “I said touch me.”

You reached for me then, your hand a blissful relief to my aching cock. I groaned and smiled as you stroked me through my jeans, realizing you just needed a firm hand to guide you through this. I popped open my jeans and shoved them down so your hand could fully grasp me. It was more divine than anything I had ever imagined when jerking off alone in my dorm room to thoughts of you.

“Look what you do to me,” I whispered into your ear. You turned your head away from me when I went in for another kiss. It made me a little mad, but I made due with sucking a bruise on your neck instead. The feeling of you overwhelmed me and I knew I wouldn’t last long. I poured my cries into your neck and hair as I came, so violently I thought my legs would buckle from underneath me.

In a haze, I turned your face back to me. You didn’t smile. You were wide eyed and seemed afraid. Maybe you thought I was still upset with you. The sight of your split lip made a pang of guilt run through me. I hadn’t meant to be so rough. I only wanted to treat you with kindness and gentleness. 

“Nicky,” I hummed, pressing a soft kiss against those lips. “I love you.”

After that, you seemed a little colder. You canceled your office hours and wouldn’t look at me in class. I felt rebuffed. I felt used. We had shared such an intimate moment together, and now you were blowing me off. I thought, you didn’t do this with Keane. I had seen you together several times. And I caught you talking to him again in hushed tones when you thought I wasn’t watching you.

I was angry when Keane confronted me on my way to class, pulling me aside and making vague threats that I needed to delete the picture or else I would be expelled. I told him he needed to leave you alone, that you didn’t want to be used by him anymore. He laughed and was crude. Said he’d keep fucking you for as long as he felt like it, that you had no problem with him being married, that it was me who needed to leave you alone. Smug, disgusting bastard. His picture perfect family life was a life, and he was forcing you to be a part of it.

I told him to go ahead. That I would send the picture out. His life would be ruined, and that for threatening me, I would make sure he was fired. He’d lose his career, his family, and his entire life. 

“You’ll ruin your own life if you do that,” he warned.

“I’ll do anything for Nicolò,” I countered. I wanted to save you from him. He didn’t love you. I do. You were meant to be mine.

Keane backed off then. He acted tough but in the end he was a coward who wanted to maintain his sham of a life. He left you alone after that, and at last, I knew we could be together. 

We were like newlyweds then. Sometimes I snuck into your office after hours, closing the door behind me. I sat in your chair while you knelt between my legs, wrapping your lips around my cock. I got better at enduring, not coming so fast despite how sexy you were for me. And god, what a good cocksucker you were. The way you could take me down your throat when I pushed on your head, the thrilling way you gagged, and how beautiful you looked with your hollowed out cheeks. You let me cum down your throat and sometimes on your face. You looked especially cute when I smeared it on your glasses.

You were quite shy about your own body, not liking to undress in front of me. It was endearing but I hungered to see you fully. I wanted to touch and suck your cock, though you always tried to push my hands away. It was a game we played, but sometimes I got impatient with it. I just wanted to hold you and pleasure you. But I know, sometimes you needed a firm touch.

Sometimes you just needed to be pushed. It was nice when we went off campus, either to fool around in your car or go to a motel. There we could be freer, more wild. I could manhandle you like you liked, slap you around, and pull your hair. You liked when I pushed you down so I could suck your cock and eat your ass. You made such beautiful noises when I did that and squirmed around so sensually. Everything you did was sexy. 

When I fucked you the first time, I swelled with pride at how you bit the sheets, trying to hold back your cries. Your eyes squeezed shut and I saw the tears of pleasure welling there, threatening to spill out. You trembled with each snap of my hips and I shook in delight at the velvety feel of your heat surrounding me. I couldn’t believe how tight you were. Keane must’ve been a pitiful lover, I thought. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I moaned as I chased my orgasm inside you. I found the spot you loved, the bundle of nerves that made you gasp and go “ _Ah! Ah! Ah!”_ with each thrust. I would reach around and find your soft cock, stroking it to life so that we could cum together. 

Afterwards, we lay together, my cum drying on your thighs while yours dried on my hands. I embraced you against my body, your back to my front, and I struggled not to grow hard again with your ass nestled against me. Sometimes I did and you would whine, complain how sore you were. I had to pet your hair, laughing, and assure you my hunger could wait. Sometimes I just fucked your thighs instead. We were so happy in those days.

Why couldn’t you let us keep staying happy?

I took more photos, but only because I wanted to have memories. You were so beautiful and sexy when you sucked me off. The sight of your hole stretched wide around my cock was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Can you blame me for wanting to capture it? You got mad though, accusing me of compiling more blackmail.

I couldn’t believe you still needed this excuse still for us to be together. It had been several months now. We’d spent the summer together. Now the new term was starting up, and I knew it was making you nervous. Afraid someone would find out about us, and that you would be fired. I know you loved your job. But I would never hurt you like that, not unless you forced me.

And then you changed for the better. You were sweeter, more attentive, and wanted to stay the night at my dorm. I said it was dangerous, we could get caught. But you said that the thrill was enticing. I had never seen you like this. It was intoxicating. So, I texted you whenever my roommate was out for the night so we could be together. Like a normal couple almost. It was my dream. I had never been so happy.

But then you showed how you were a liar. A filthy lying whore. Which I should’ve known since that’s what you were doing with Keane. Catching you on my phone and my laptop while I was asleep. I had been so deep asleep since you had brought us wine that night. I was still only twenty, not old enough to drink, but you said it would be our secret. But then I realized you did it to knock me out, so that you could sneak into my computer and try to delete all our happy memories.

I was mad. Can you blame me? So mad. I’m sorry I hit you. Again and again. But you hit me too. When you were in the wrong, you hit me back, punched me in my face and stomach. Tried to run from me, steal my phone to finish deleting our memories. I grabbed you, afraid that you would run away from me forever. I threw you onto the ground and fell on top of you, and I blacked out then.

My rage was blinding and my heart was breaking.

And that’s where we are now, with you crying beneath me. What happened to us, Nicky? We were so happy and in love. And you’ve made such a mess. You’re crying underneath me, begging me to let you go, to stop hurting you, to stop keeping you captive.

I don’t understand what’s happening. I lean down to kiss you and you fight me again. I pin your wrists to the ground and kiss you, pouring all my love and hopes and dreams into it so you might understand. 

“Nicolò, I love you,” I repeated again to your crying face. “And I won’t ever let you go.”

“Please, please, please,” you beg, shaking. “Yusuf, please…”

I squeeze your wrists harder when you say my name. You know I’ve always wanted to hear you cry it out in passion and in want of me. And now you’re saying it to try to force me to leave you.

“You are more to me than you could dream,” I whispered between placing soft, gentle kisses on your cheek. “You’re my moon when I’m lost in darkness and my warmth when I shiver in the cold. Please, Nicolò, come back to me.”

I don’t remember my hands leaving your wrists and wrapping fingers around your neck instead. Your hands struggle to find purchase on me, pushing at my face and fisting in my dark curls. You struggle and wheeze. I know you can’t breath but I can’t bring myself to let you go. Without you, I will die.

You stop your crying, and your hands grow weak as they paw at my hands. You peer up at me. God, even with eyes red and swollen from tears and a bruise forming from where you forced me to hit you, you’re still so fucking beautiful. Even with your skin growing paler.

“I will never be ashamed of you. Never hide you. I will worship you and keep you. And treasure you always. You just have to stop fighting me.” 

Your hands fall away, and finally I am able to release my hold on your neck. You gasp and cough and suck in desperate breaths. But I stay on top of you, my hands still around your neck so that I can feel your pulse. It’s racing like my own.

You take a shaky breath, and I feel myself shaking. If you reject me now, say no and leave me, I will die. We will both die, I’m sure, unable to live without the other. 

“Please, Nicolò, be mine. I don’t know what I’ll do otherwise.”

Finally, you nod. And mumble, “Okay.”

“You’ll be mine?” I asked like the scared little boy I feel right now.

“Y-yes.”

“Nicolò,” I breathe, and now I’m crying. “You’re all and you’re more.”

You smile, tentatively and unsure. But you laugh. “You’re an incurable r-romantic.”

**Author's Note:**

> So.....what did you think? Look, I know I've already got a first class ticket to hell, haha.
> 
> Come yell at my psychotic self on tumblr:  
> https://queen-of-badomens.tumblr.com/


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